


Just The Same But Brand New

by starsandgraces



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-14
Updated: 2010-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgraces/pseuds/starsandgraces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing Jim from a different angle changes the way McCoy sees himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just The Same But Brand New

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "breathplay" at [km_anthology](http://community.livejournal.com/km_anthology/) and beta'd by [withthepilot](http://withthepilot.livejournal.com/). The title comes from the St. Vincent song of the same name.

Sickbay is quiet; empty but for a skeleton staff of four nurses and McCoy. They're only on duty to finish up paperwork. In spite of McCoy's worst fears, no one's managed to injure themselves yet—but it's still early in the mission.

He pushes a PADD across his desk and sighs heavily, getting up out of his chair and stretching until something pops in his back. He needs a better chair, really; this one isn't quite right and McCoy can't ever seem to get comfortable in it. It's probably a sign that he should give up on reports and forms for the time being and go out onto the main ward to make sure everyone else is working hard.

They aren't. Christine and Barbara Flores are watching something on a console and McCoy approaches them quietly, trying to get a look at the screen without them noticing they've been caught. It takes him a moment to process what he's seeing. It's a security feed from the ship's databanks, and it's from the bridge on the day that Jim first took command of the _Enterprise_.

"This is the best part," Flores says in an undertone. "Imagine seeing it happen in the flesh."

McCoy sees himself on the vid, watching in silence as Jim pushes Spock one step too far and ends up pinned to the conn, getting choked half to death for his trouble. _Not that he didn't deserve it_ , McCoy thinks (as he thought at the time). And, of course, everyone was focused on that. Maybe no one saw what he's seeing now—namely, the fact that Jim was half-hard in his pants while Spock was throttling him.

He shouldn't be surprised that Jim gets off on that sort of thing, but seeing it like this catches him off-guard, and he's a little harsher than he perhaps should have been.

"Flores! Chapel!" he barks, and both women jump guiltily. "Where did you get this?"

"My boyfriend's in security," Flores murmurs hesitantly.

"And I'm sure his CO will be just _thrilled_ to hear about this," McCoy says sarcastically. "I'm disappointed in both of you. If I ever hear about this happening again, there _will_ be consequences, d'you hear? Now, get back to work."

"Yes, sir," they both reply.

Christine shoots him an apologetic look before she turns to leave but McCoy just shakes his head, ejecting the data cube and pocketing it. He can feel the edge pressing against his thigh for the rest of the shift.

He doesn't go to Jim's quarters that night, even though he hasn't slept anywhere else since the mission began. He goes to the CMO's quarters instead. They're almost empty, bar the uniforms which were waiting in the closet when he arrived on the ship. At least he'll have something clean to wear tomorrow. There are pyjamas as well—not his own, but comfortable enough for a night or two.

There's a water shower setting in the bathroom and McCoy decides to take full advantage of it. He normally has no time; too busy with his duties for anything more than a few minutes under the sonics. Tonight, though, he needs the feeling of water on his skin to take his mind off thoughts of other people's skin.

It doesn't help, in the end. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes as he takes his erection in hand, stroking himself slowly as he thinks about Jim. The noises Jim made, little choked gasps and wheezes. The way he was half-hard right there on the bridge.

McCoy bites his lip and squeezes his cock a little harder as he remembers the faint bruising around Jim's throat, thrusting into the tight grip of his fingers. It's only after he's come—pressing his face against the cool tile as white bursts behind his eyelids—that he realises he was holding his breath.

He feels lighter than he has in a long time.

***

Jim doesn't say anything about McCoy's absence that night, and life continues as normal. He goes back to sleeping in the captain's quarters, next to Jim, but he never mentions the vid and he tries not to even think about how much he'd like Jim's hands around his throat.

The data cube sits in his pocket for almost a week before he finally throws it down a trash chute. McCoy knows he should have returned it to someone in security, but he really can't bring himself to care. He'd have airlocked the cube if he could have done it without arousing suspicion.

But getting rid of it doesn't help. McCoy can still picture everything he saw on the vid with perfect clarity and it goes around and around inside his head until he can hardly concentrate on his work. He gets everything done, of course, and he does it well, but he never stops thinking about Jim and hands and pressure around throats. It gets him off faster than he's come in years, like he's a teenager again. But holding his breath or pressing his face into a pillow while Jim fucks him into the mattress is nowhere near enough and McCoy knows how bad an idea tying something around his neck is. He's going to have to talk to Jim.

***

"I know," Jim says.

"You know?"

"I found the data cube in your pants. I watched it and it was pretty easy to guess what you were looking at." He raises his eyebrows and shrugs. "That and the way you've started not breathing when you come made it easy to put two and two together. I've got to admit," he adds, "I didn't think you'd actually come out and ask for something like that."

McCoy clears his throat. "Firstly, I confiscated that from a nurse. And secondly," he starts, before realising he doesn't have a second point. "Dammit, Jim, you have to understand that this is awkward."

"It doesn't have to be," Jim says, and he leans in to kiss McCoy. It's a rough, deep kiss and McCoy's responding to it before his brain has a chance to catch up with his body. "You know I understand."

"Jim, wait. You don't have to do this if you don't want to," he says after a moment or two.

"Bones, when have you ever known me to do something I didn't want to do?"

There's a long pause. "Good point."

Jim grins wolfishly and kisses him again, pulling at the front of McCoy's trousers until the fastenings give and he can push them down. It doesn't take long for the rest of their clothes to join his pants on the floor as they stumble across the room to the bed.

McCoy thinks, suddenly, that he doesn't know what might happen if they don't go through with this now. He rolls onto his back, pulling Jim on top of him. "C'mon, c'mon."

"Now you're eager," Jim says, reaching for the lube on the nightstand. His slippery fingertips skim along the inside of McCoy's thighs, rubbing across his entrance until McCoy lets out an undignified whimper and tries to push onto them. He's hard already, his cock full and heavy against his stomach, but Jim doesn't touch it. His concentration is firmly set on stretching McCoy out slowly, pushing almost deep enough to brush his prostate but never quite getting there. It has to be deliberate. "Ready?"

"Mind my trachea," McCoy says breathlessly, trying to spread his legs farther apart for Jim's hand. "Goddammit, please, just do it."

Jim laughs softly, nuzzling McCoy's throat as he strokes his fingers deeper. "I love it when you talk medical," he says, then he bites down carefully. McCoy groans and bucks against his hand, gripping Jim's shoulder tightly. "You want my cock, Bones?"

"Fucking _tease_ ," he growls.

"No, tell me," Jim says, sitting up suddenly. His eyes are very dark and his pupils are dilated with arousal. "Which do you want more? My fingers in your ass or my fingers around your throat? Say it, Leonard. I want to hear you say the words."

"You want me to c-call you 'Captain', too?" he asks, and mentally curses the treacherous stutter in his voice.

"Maybe next time," he says in a low voice, stilling his hand. "Say it."

"Fuck your sexual power plays. Jesus. Okay, Jim, I want your fingers around my throat and I want you to fuck me. You got that?"

There's a brief moment where he thinks that it isn't going to be enough for Jim, but Jim makes a low noise of approval and rocks his hips forward against McCoy's thigh. His cock is already slick with lubricant and McCoy didn't even notice him doing it, he's so caught up in the anticipation.

He exhales harshly as Jim eases his fingers out and replaces them with his dick, starting up a steady rhythm. The sheets rustle as he braces himself on one hand, leaning right over McCoy and lightly laying his other palm on McCoy's throat. He doesn't press down or squeeze to begin with; just keeps his hand resting there as he fucks him slowly.

Jim angles his hips until McCoy shudders and tenses around his cock with every thrust, and that's when he starts to tighten his fingers. It's so slow that McCoy doesn't even realise at first—at least until his vision starts going hazy around the edges. It should be alarming, he knows, but all he can think about is Jim's fingers digging into his neck, blocking off his airway.

Everything is silent now, apart from the blood pounding through his head. McCoy's vaguely aware that Jim is saying something into his ear—probably something dirty that's intended to turn him on even more. He can feel Jim's lips and the faint, hot gusts of his breath. McCoy's whole universe shrinks down to his lungs, his still-untouched cock, his prostate, and Jim. Jim is the centre of everything.

It's unnerving.

He can't breathe at all now, in spite of his body's futile attempts to struggle against the vice-like grip around his throat. Jim is still relentlessly pounding into him, pushing McCoy closer and closer to the brink. He shuts his eyes because there's nothing left to see; the oxygen deprivation has finally robbed him entirely of his vision. Stars fly past behind his closed lids, but they're not real. He doesn't know how he knows that, because that's the moment everything comes to a head.

McCoy blacks out when he comes, perhaps. He can't really tell because everything is sensation now, ripping through his entire body in uncontrollable spasms. He thinks Jim must have let go of his neck— _must have_ —but at the same time, it's as if his hand is still there.

The first breath almost chokes him as it burns down into his lungs. His whole body feels brand new, as if Jim's reconstructed it from the ground up especially for tonight. Every nerve is tingling, and he thinks he can even feel the bruises forming around his neck. In the morning he'll take a regenerator to them, but McCoy wants them there now; just for tonight.

"You okay, Bones?" Jim whispers. "Fuck, that was intense. Tell me you're okay."

McCoy tries clearing his throat experimentally, which hurts. He's not really surprised. "I... I'm okay. I'm fine." Talking doesn't hurt quite as much, but his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.

"Do you need anything?"

 _You gave me everything I needed_ , he thinks, but he can't say it aloud, so he just presses his face against Jim's shoulder.

Jim seems to understand what it means. He usually does.


End file.
